Tuesday, April 28, 2009

It’s usually round about this time of year that I start saying fond farewells to friends and acquaintances. I bid adieu to the alternative Cape Town social scene and retreat into a merlot induced coma in the comfort and warmth of my apartment, only venturing outdoors to fill in my timesheets at the palace of advertising.

It’s during these times of extreme comfort and self-indulgence that I would imagine myself as a fabulous recluse, tucked away in my loft apartment in the city. This was of course until a close friend commented on how lame and pathetic I was actually being.

So this year, I plan a different kind of winter. I intend on braving the cold and misbehaving as if it was the sweltering middle of February.

To loosely quote Dylan Thomas: “I plan to go rocking into that good night.”

Thursday, April 23, 2009

For some it was the first time, but for true political activists such as myself, it was the second time I was making my mark.

After shorter than expected queues, and a slight altercation with an electoral official, we celebrated our freedom of choice by hopping over to our favourite hangout spot and taking part in the national past time of South Africans worldwide.

Monday, April 20, 2009

It’s Saturday morning, 10:40 and I’m standing in the aisle of a busy supermarket debating the merits of a swing lid bin, against the one where the lid opens by gently tapping your foot on a pedal.

All of a sudden I’m transported back to a time when the highlight of my day was swinging upside down on the jungle gym and it took all my resolve not to cry when my parents dropped me off in the morning.

No, my crèche days had nothing to do with trash, or any kind of reference to garbage. It was the smell of a lady who walked past – a smell almost identical to that of Teacher Lillian, my much adored pre-school teacher. It was like a mixture between flowers, and a kind of shampoo. (Must’ve been some really good shit because her hair was always silky soft). But what are the chances of some random lady smelling exactly like my pre-school teacher, 18 years ago?

What is it about smell that has this amazing ability to transport you to the often special, the sometimes scary, but mostly forgotten times in your life.

For example, the smell of the green Lux body lotion would always remind me of one of my best friends Nisi, our high school days, and getting ready to go out to some dodge spot without our parents knowing.

What is it about the whiff of baby powder that would have me thinking of my mother and subsequently developing a lump in my throat?

The smell of freshly baked scones transports me back to my Aunty J’s kitchen on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Some would attribute the ability of smell to unlock memories to simple science. But I would like to think of smell as little vessels that hold and carry memories though time, unleashing them on you at just the right moment.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Easter weekend has come, and like my abundantly stocked choccy egg stash, has gone. And what an Easter it was: apart from running around the apartment in my underwear, as I’m prone to do on occasion, I spent 4 Margarita fuelled days with a few very special people.

This experience got me thinking.

In different phases of life you encounter certain people. You spend a few consecutive Fridays nights together at Fiction, followed by hazy early morning breakfast’ at Arnolds, hangout together at the container every Sunday afternoon of your high school career and play Mission Impossible while frantically running from the headmaster, in an attempt to bunk school for the day.

And then a realisation suddenly and unexpectedly hits you in the face:

You can’t imagine living life without these people, freegn hell; you can’t even remember life before these people came along.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Ok, I’ve been thinking lately, and it’s long overdue, so I’m just going to say it.

I haven’t always been the easiest of children, and I think as the years went by, I’ve gotten worse.

And I imagine much like calm returned to Hiroshima months after the atomic bomb, peace falls upon the household after one of my visits. (On that note, I’ll be dropping by in June sometime.)

But what I actually wanted to say was; strip away all the demanding, antisocial behaviour and you're left with the same chubby little boy - cake smears on his cheeks, a big smile on his face and a heart filled with love and unrelenting gratitude.